


Convalescent

by hauntedpoem



Series: Stories from the fairy's house [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fairies, Gen, Magic, attempted suicide, magic?, nettle and wild mushroom soup, or maybe she's a magical green elf, sorry Mae no suicide for you, you don't mess with the fairies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 15:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10468107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hauntedpoem/pseuds/hauntedpoem
Summary: Ready to commit suicide, Maedhros thought he perished along with the Silmaril but the morning finds him with breakfast in bed...





	

**Author's Note:**

> ...and a green elf (or fairy?) he shouldn't cross.  
>  Oh, and a regrown hand! ...magic, duh!  
> -  
> Don't worry, this is NOT inspired by [Stephen King's Misery](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IbP4YLsdBBE%0A), so you can rest assured!  
> This is an innocent little fic exploring the numerous what ifs.  
> Enjoy!

Maedhros stared into the fiery abyss with brazen eyes. There was nothing left for him now. Nothing! The Silmaril burned brightly in the palm of his hand and he ignored the pain coursing through him, pulsing with the light within the stone.

He could smell the fire, cleansing, ready to engulf him in its red, molten maw. He prepared himself mentally, allowing his imagination to picture his body fallen and burnt to a crisp by the unforgiving flame. Maedhors spared a thought to his _amil_ , to his _dear brother_ , Maglor, who chose to bear this terrible guilt and who still hoped to spare their souls from the abyss through bitter prayers. He named the rest out loud. His mouth went suddenly dry and his throat felt as if he swallowed coals instead of speaking. _Feanor, Celegorm, Caranthir, Curufin, Amrod, Amras._

He would burn _forever_ like the oath burned inside him. Maybe then, it would be destroyed and rendered void.

He closed his eyes for the fiery vision before him reminded him too much of Morgoth.

“So be it.”

And then “ _whack_!”, pain rushed through his skull, it shook his every limb and the Silmaril jumped out of his grasp. Confused, he opened his eyes again. “ _Whack_!”

It landed at the base of his skull and he saw no more. Blackness finally engulfed him.

Maedhros let himself go, surrendered with ease. When his body, so weakened, embraced what was to come, peace was bound to arrive and sweep him off his feet. He floated in unconsciousness for a long, long time.

The blackness dropped him into an oasis of half-light. Maedhros felt himself floating and he did not think of anything. He barely acknowledged the chasm and the bright Silmaril and the underlying grief of his life in Ossiriand. He craved this unbearable lightness and now that he had it, he felt so content!

Soon, he realised he still had eyes, had a body and limbs. And what moved before the half-light, sweet and non-threatening were not fish from the _abyss_ , nor clouds from _unknowable heights_. He opened his eyes and he could see, blinded no more by his own ignorance.

He was in a small room, with dulcet light filtering though small, numerous windows. The green hue of willow trees in the spring. He could not remember what it was that brought him here. _Was this one of Mandos’ many chambers?_ He doubted that.

This was a humble abode, with neatly carved beams and simple furniture. The smell of herbs and a freshly cooked meal wafted from what he presumed to be the kitchen. It was a lot to take in, especially in his condition. He tried to move but his head throbbed with more pain and whenever he shut his eyes, he would see the fiery chasm.

_The Silmaril!_

And when he opened them, he saw _her_. She wasn’t too tall, just very lithe and had an odd energy about her. Uncombed hair, green eyes, she was almost naked - if not for the gauzy strip around her waist. She was carrying a steaming pot on a wooden tray and when she approached the bed, sat as daintily as a wild thing could sit on a chair. The maiden gave him a toothy grin that should have been blood curdling if her whole demeanour wasn’t so charming.

With a wooden spoon, she scooped some of the green goo that she’s been boiling and presented it to him. The smell was herbal, like the forest. He knew of it, so many childhood reminders flashing before his eyes- his _atar_ , in Formenos, waiting for the snow to melt so they could go herb-gathering. Nettles and mushrooms, more than a lesson in herbal lore became a lesson in life. Sheepishly, he examined her hands. They were all red and peppered with tiny little cuts and bruises but clean enough to inspire trust.

Maedhros tried impossibly hard not to look _anywhere_ below her neck. Insistently, she put the spoon to his lips and he tasted the cooked nettles. He wanted water, badly but she forced the green paste in his mouth with a winning smile. She looked so proud of herself. He ate slowly, trying to make sense of how he got there but could not remember anything, except for the Silmaril, burning at his hand. Stealthily, he fished out his hand from under the cover and to his utter surprise, it had been neatly bandaged in clean linen cloth.

She noticed his gesture and made an odd sound of delight. It reminded Maedhros of the cooing of a baby presented with a beloved toy. With a sharp movement of the bed cover, she revealed his other arm and Maedhros almost fainted when he saw _his hand_ , the one that he urged Fingon to cut so he could free himself from the shackle.

 _It was his hand! It was real!_ His fingers, he could move them… Maedhros was overwhelmed.

Her crystalline laughter pulled him back to reality.  She had eyes like emeralds and a pert little nose and apparently, she couldn’t stay put in the chair. She swayed nervously and stirred the spoon into the pot with vigour.

“Ermm…” But what could he say to her? A thank you would be nice, so he did that but Maedhros wasn’t too sure she understood him. He tried to gesture to her to make his message come across but she would have none of that.

She held that spoon like a weapon and bumped into his teeth quite insistently. A little growl made him aware that he ought to open his mouth and just swallow the green soup.

He did so and she gave him another delighted smile.

This couldn’t be. It was madness, so he must be dead.

 

 ~*~

(He's safe, at least for the time being. Just don't piss her off, Mae!)

 

**Author's Note:**

> I swear... her intentions are pure. She's just misguided. And doesn't realise her own nudity. She's a real warrior with a wooden spoon in her hand.  
> whack! whack! whack!  
> [she also cooks nettle soup](https://i0.wp.com/www.trinityskitchen.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/05/nettle-soup_300x260.jpg)  
> Sorry, I don't know her name.


End file.
